


endeavour

by GrumpiestCat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9156367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpiestCat/pseuds/GrumpiestCat
Summary: Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on the tips of his fingers.  “This isn’t about the toothpaste.  You're not angry about the toothpaste.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FervidAsAFlame](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FervidAsAFlame/gifts).



> Holiday fic for Tori, who was one of the first people I started annoying on Twitter. I *really* tried to do something fluffy and happy but ... yeah, it got angsty. I ... hope it's not horrible?

John stormed upstairs, slamming the door behind him, not giving a shit about the fact that Sherlock had been close on his heels.  Let the fucking door hit him in the face and break that nose of his. 

The last straw was when he was in the bathroom and his gaze landed on a tube of toothpaste, squeezed down in the middle instead of rolled up from the ends.  When he was done, he snatched it up and found Sherlock in the living room. 

“How many _fucking times_ do I have to tell you to squeeze from the fucking bottom!?”

Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his elbows resting on his knees, his chin resting on the tips of his fingers.  “This isn’t about the toothpaste.  You're not angry about the toothpaste.”

“Of course it isn’t about the fucking toothpaste, you fucking asshole!”  John threw the tube at the wall, hitting the smiley face square in the middle. 

“You’ll be moving out, I suppose.  Or perhaps you expect me to leave, but that hardly seems fair.”

That short-circuited his rage.  “Sherlock, what are you talking about?”

“You wish to … ‘break up’ with me,” he said with disdain, either at the sentiment or at sounding like a teenager.  “You’ll want to move out.  If you expect me to help you pack, I believe that’s rather rude.”

“For fuck’s sake, that’s not how this works.”

Sherlock looked at him for the first time since they’d left the crime scene.  He said nothing, but crooked an eyebrow.

“We’re having a fight.  We’ve had them before, and we’ll have them again.  It doesn’t mean we … ‘break up’.  What it means is that we have a talk about why you can’t be jumping in front of fucking psychopaths with guns!”

Unconsciously or not, Sherlock ran his hand through his hair, exposing the bandage that covered where the bullet had grazed his forehead.  Even though he had washed his face, there was still some dried blood on the eyebrow.  There had been so much blood that John had been surprised Sherlock was conscious and talking as he knelt next to him on the floor.  He had been convinced the bullet had gone into his brain.  His mind had gone blank as he tried to remember what the temporal lobe of the brain was responsible, as he tried to figure out what kind of brain damage Sherlock might have.  Everything had shut down.

Sherlock had blown off his concern.  _It’s just a scratch._   Except it most definitely was not, and if Torbert had just had better aim, if Sherlock hadn’t been moving, if any of a dozen things had been different, he’d be dead.

“Did you happen to see what he was aiming at before he shot me?  Or are you really that unobservant?”

He hadn’t, but the tone of Sherlock’s voice made it easy to guess.

“Yes, John.  While you were distracted by his accomplice, he was about to shoot _you_ in the head.  If I hadn’t tried to tackle him, you would be dead right now, instead of standing here berating me for _saving your life_.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before Sherlock bolted off the couch, rushing past him.  John grabbed his arm, but Sherlock twisted his body and wrenched free easily.  John knew exactly where this was going; Sherlock would lock himself in his room and sulk for days if he let him.  He snatched at Sherlock’s jacket, halting him, and then he took the chance to shove Sherlock against the wall, making sure not to bang his head.

“You’re not running off.  We need to talk about this.”

“What’s the point?”  Sherlock sneered at him.  “In this line of work, this is bound to happen again.  Someone will threaten your life or mine and we will get angry with each other.  This will wear on us and ultimately destroy us.  Maybe you should just leave.”

John tightened his grip on Sherlock’s arms.  “No.  We talk about this and we fucking deal with it.  We don’t just give up.”

Sherlock’s face stayed stony, making him wonder.  _Did_ Sherlock just want to give up on this?  Maybe it was too much.  He’d never been in a relationship before.  It wasn’t enough to just add sex onto their friendship; things had changed, and they would have to put effort into it to keep it going.

“I can’t watch you die,” Sherlock said, finally, practically a whisper.  “I will always put my life at risk if yours is in danger.  That will not change.”

Coming from the man who rarely said ‘I love you’, it was overwhelming.  John morphed the hold he had on him into an embrace, wrapping his arms around him.  When he had fallen, Sherlock had tumbled into the store’s flower display, and there were still bits of pollen on his jacket.  To avoid sneezing, John turned his head, buried his nose into Sherlock’s chest.  It took him several minutes to feel confident he could speak without his voice breaking.

“And I’ll always do the same for you, Sherlock.”

“I would rather die than watch you die for me.”

The lump returned to John’s throat, because he _had_ watched Sherlock die for him, because he would rather die than go through that again.  Sherlock was right; unless he was to retire, danger was a part of their lives, and John didn’t know if either of them would be happy if they were eliminate that element from their existence. 

“Isn’t this where you tell me something that will make us both feel better?”

John lifted his head to make eye contact.  “Like, ‘don’t worry, we’ll just watch each other’s’ backs and everything will be fine’?  You’d mock me mercilessly if I said that.”

“Then –”

“Right now, we both need a shower.  I’m starving.  Let’s take care of that first.  Then we’ll talk.”

“John –”

“Unless you _want_ to give up on this – give up on _us_ – that’s what we’re doing.”

“You go first.”  The tense look on Sherlock’s face wasn’t abating John’s anxiety.  “I don’t want to listen to you complain about the hot water.”

“We could shower together.  That would solve that problem.”

Sherlock shook his head.  “I’d prefer to be able to wash my hair without you making snide comments the whole time.”

“Okay.”  With his hand behind Sherlock’s neck, he pulled him down for a kiss before heading to the bathroom, trying to ignore the knot growing in his stomach. 

He hoped Sherlock thought their relationship was worth working on.

 

(fin.)


End file.
